The Dukes of Naples and Gaeta were identified by the gonfalons retainers held over their heads, proud men and Lombards, owners of their own fiefs, who nevertheless knew they held their titles by imperial favour, and it was telling the distance that existed between them and Guaimar, whom they knew to be ambitious that Salerno, having subsumed Amalfi, should surpass them as the greatest trading port of their shared coast. To these lords he was a constant threat, having, as he did, Rainulf’s still-numerous Normans at his beck and call.
The surprise of the gathering, in fact no less than a shock, only revealed itself after they had made their bows to the dais and been welcomed by the emperor. Standing to one side, partially hidden, stood Pandulf, the one time Prince of Capua, the man known as the Wolf of the Abruzzi, in what had been his own great hall, this before he had been deposed. Hasty questioning of the others, gathered as they retired, revealed the truth: if the release of George Maniakes from his dungeon had been one of the Emperor Constantine’s little surprises on his accession to the purple, this was another, potentially equally troubling. Pandulf had been freed and sent home, in the certain knowledge that he was bound to cause trouble among his fellow Lombards, which could only benefit the Byzantine cause.
‘So, William de Hauteville,’ Pandulf said, having made his way through the throng to sidle up to a man he had once tried to recruit, the very fellow who had seen to it he lost his title. ‘I find myself addressing a very different fellow. You have risen in the world.’
The Wolf had aged, hardly surprising for a man who had spent years in a Byzantine oubliette; at one time darkly handsome, he was now drawn-looking and his black hair was streaked with grey, but the dark, dancing eyes were the same as was the voice, one which William knew to be silky and insincere, but also one which wove a spell on the uninitiated, which seemed to be able to embrace and render congenial whichever person he was addressing. And there was the smile as well, slightly crooked.
‘And you, Pandulf, have risen from the dead.’
‘If it were not blasphemous, I would compare myself to Christ.’
‘I do not recall that you feared blasphemy or damnation,’ said Drogo.
Pandulf ignored that remark, looking past Drogo and his brothers to Berengara, the eyebrows lifting and the smile broadening in mock wonder. ‘And you have taken as wife the beautiful Berengara, William. How I envy you such a prize.’
There was mockery in those words: Pandulf was the kind to ferret out gossip and he was telling him that he knew very well how troubled was that particular relationship, just as William knew they were meant to rile him. All his life he had reacted to people who attempted that with a slight smile, one which hinted at an interior superiority. Generally it infuriated the recipient; there was great pleasure in seeing it work on Pandulf now, but the question still remained: how had he got to this place at this time? Being set free by Constantine was one thing, being invited to a synod set up by the Emperor of the West quite another.
That he had charmed this new emperor was later obvious and not wholly surprising: he had done the same to this young man’s predecessor until his depredations had forced Conrad to act. When called forward to speak, admitting his previous errors and seeking forgiveness, Henry listened intently. William just had to look at the face of Guaimar of Salerno to know how badly he took the re-emergence of the man he held to be his greatest enemy.
The Abbot of Montecassino looked as if he would happily forgo his vows and commit murder to be rid of a man who made the Normans appear like saints. It was hard for Rainulf too, for he was in the presence, not only of an abbot who gladly would list his sins for an imperial ear, but also of two magnates he had at one time, and in turn, betrayed, while he was about to kneel before the only man who could legitimately strip him of his title for the activities of the men he led.
But whatever Guaimar and Rainulf felt paled beside that of Berengara, who for once spoke to William in a voice not dripping with hate for him, her gaze fixed intently on Pandulf.
‘Kill that man, cut out his living heart, and I will give myself to you willingly, and perhaps bear you the child you desire.’
Robert de Hauteville replied, not William, in a voice too loud, as usual. ‘You have asked the wrong person, Lady Berengara. If you want someone killed you should have asked me.’
Before either she or William could respond to that, Henry stood, and looking out over the assembly at the many armorial devices which identified each grouping, his face creased with curiosity. ‘Where is the Prince of Benevento?’
Someone, a court official no doubt, responded in the negative, which produced a look of anger and a voice to match. ‘Not yet here on the appointed day! Send messengers to seek him out. He is my vassal and he should be in attendance.’
The voice that responded was so soft it was difficult to hear, but the words were much repeated afterwards, as the newly elected Pope Clement leant across and reminded the emperor, and not entirely to his liking, that in strict truth Benevento was a papal fief, not an imperial one.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Emperor Henry III, looking out over the assembled gathering, was not happy and he had good reason: there was not one person present who did not give him concern, and one still absent that made him furious. Added to that, every voice he heard, be it in private or public, was committed to condemnation of the actions of another.
A nobleman from Amalfi, dispossessed by Guaimar and lucky to still be breathing following the sack of that place, denied the piracy of which that city state was accused, in turn condemning the other trading ports for secretly undermining imperial edicts regarding fair trade and tariffs. But these people never did anything other than curse each other, making it difficult for a distant and German-based overlord to sort claim from counterclaim.
But there was no doubt they all shared one thought: Salerno was the real problem. They were sure the ruler of that city, with Amalfi already in his grasp, had continuing plans of conquest, which meant no one was safe. Henry had the power to reverse that, to force Guaimar to give up Amalfi, but would that be wise? Guaimar was undoubtedly ambitious and there was no knowing where that would lead. He needed to be checked but it would not be good policy to humiliate him.
The idea of an independent king ruling in South Italy, wherever he sprang from, was not one to appeal and the outlines of such a polity seemed to be taking shape. Not content with Amalfi, Guaimar had self-appointed himself to Byzantine Apulia and then gone on to grant land and titles to the Normans who were once in his pay: the emperor had no idea of how much those mercenaries led by William de Hauteville owed to him in return, and that he needed to establish.
Rainulf he was sure of: Guaimar’s vassal in Campania was seemingly under his thumb, but he was out of control on the edge of those domains, nothing more than the leader of a marauding gang of robbers sucking the wealth out of church lands, and despite his recent troubles he still mustered an impressive force; combine those two bands of mercenary warriors under Guaimar’s leadership and they would be a power that even the whole might of the empire would struggle to contain.
Prince Landulf of Benevento would be at risk as well as the rival ports, but when it came to what they had done in Apulia they did not garner much imperial sympathy. Landulf had been just as ambitious and duplicitous as Guaimar in support of revolt, with the appointment of his brother and the subsequent encouragement of Argyrus, and where had that led? Worse, despite a clear summons, he had yet to appear, and that bordered on an affront to his imperial majesty, one which would definitely have to be dealt with.